


Little Brat

by FlitShadowflame



Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: M/M, PWP, Spanking Kink, Teacher Kink, established relationship and they live together, eyeglasses kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:33:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22328650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlitShadowflame/pseuds/FlitShadowflame
Summary: Harry catches Johnny wearing reading glasses.
Relationships: Harry Dresden/Johnny Marcone
Comments: 3
Kudos: 124





	Little Brat

I woke up curled around John in bed. That was unusual in and of itself - John was an early riser, and normally after sex I was out until ten a.m. at the earliest.

I cuddled closer and he stroked my hair. "Go back to sleep," he said.

I looked up, ready to pout and say something about enjoying the cuddles, but I got distracted.

He'd been working on a legal pad, taking meticulous notes about things I probably didn't want to know about. He put the pad aside and raised an eyebrow at me. My mouth was hanging open, just a little, because I had started to speak but then I saw them.

He was wearing glasses. The little kind that you can put in a pen-shaped thing in your shirt pocket. I swallowed. I knew John was older than me - not a lot, but some - and I knew wizards aged slower than vanilla mortals. But I'd never thought that maybe his eyesight would start to go, and I'd certainly never thought that seeing him with glasses would turn me on this much.

"Is something the matter?"

"...you wear reading glasses?" I asked instead of answering, voice thick with arousal.

He blinked and moved to take them off, looking like he'd forgotten they were on. I grabbed his hand.

"Leave them," I said, the words a purr that made him smile slowly and pull me into a kiss.

I was still naked, but somehow he'd extricated himself from me long enough to pull on a pair of silk pajama bottoms. I rubbed against them hungrily.

I'd topped earlier, enthusiastically. But I wanted him over me, wearing those glasses and flashing his money green eyes. I wrapped my legs around his waist and kissed him hard.

"So eager," he murmured, pulling the lube out of the drawer. I didn't remember putting it back, which meant, as usual, he'd cleaned up after me. Fuck, thinking about that shouldn't have made me harder.

I might have topped most recently, but there had been some nimble sex in the afternoon that left me more than ready to take him in again, with a little care. John gave me all that care and much more, as usual. He was meticulous about everything, to the point of driving me nuts with it sometimes. I usually minded his millions of tiny rules so I could get away with breaking the big ones in emergencies - burning stuff down, mostly. Compromise is the foundation of every great relationship, right? John rolled me onto my back and I arched into him.

He didn't even pull the pajamas off, just unbuttoned the front and slipped in me. The silk moving against my thighs was erotic in ways I'd never dreamed, but the thing that was really getting me going was still the glasses, watching them bounce a little on his nose as he thrust in, seeing his eyes distorted, half-doubled, through them and over them.

John was never hard-fast-deep with me, not for a second round. Sometimes if it had been a while and he was just shoving me carelessly against a wall, but not like this, in our bed, after we'd done it three times in a day already. He moved slowly, patiently, and yeah he thrust to the hilt, but it never felt like enough.

I begged for more, for faster, and, contrary as a cat, he got slower. But he loomed over me, watching my face in that scrutinizing, inscrutable way. I loved his expressions as he fucked me, how sometimes they could be so curious and calculating, and sometimes filled raw with love and affection. I'd shown him a new kink, so he was cataloging my reaction to everything.

He ran his hands down my sides. "How far does this go, hmm?" he asked. I tried to pull him closer with my legs, but he ignored me.

"I - please, John - "

"Can it extend out to some sort of roleplay? A fetish for librarians, maybe, or teachers?" I gasped a little at the second and he smirked. "Teachers? Is that why you like being called 'Mr. Dresden' so much? Would a teacher call a little brat like you something that respectful, do you think?" he said the words with that same experimental, just-wondering tone, but his eyes said he was game to try more.

I whimpered a little. "Please, I'll do better, I promise..."

"I've heard your promises before, little brat." The diminutive - so out of place when referring to someone a few inches taller and significantly taller than the average man - made the "brat" sting a lot less, made it sound almost like a pet name.

"But I really will this time..." I whined. "Please, just let me come..."

"Naughty little boys don't get to do whatever they want," John said primly, pushing his glasses up his nose, and I almost came right there. "Get your legs off of me or I'll leave you like this for the rest of the class to find." I swallowed. Exhibitionism was John's thing, not mine. The most I had done for him had been hidden in public places, and once or twice knowing Hendricks was listening. I could probably handle more than that, but I got embarrassed easily.

John never pushed. All of those occasions had been gifts to him, and I knew I should give him more of them.

But that was food for later thought. "Pleasepleaseplease don't, I'll be good," I begged, releasing him slowly and praying he wouldn't pull out. He didn't, just repositioned me around him.

"Little brat," he said, and there was no mistaking the affection this time. Now he went harder and deeper, though it still wasn't as fast as I wanted, as I whined and begged for. He squeezed my ass, still watching me, measuring with his eyes. I liked the groping - I usually did, when no one could see. Tonight he seemed to want to test all my boundaries, though.

The slap was light, more sound than pain. I yelped, surprised, and my cock twitched (pleased, not that I'd admit it).

Teacher-John chuckled. "Is that why you're always so naughty, little brat? Just begging for a spanking..."

I squirmed, blushing in-character and out. "I - sh-shuddup."

Another smack, firmer this time. "That's not how you talk to a teacher, little brat."

"Please...sir...I'll be good..." I said weakly, the protests hardly any stronger than my desire for this to end.

"I doubt that..."

The spanking was irregular, since he rarely hit me when he was all the way in me, and he didn't do it every time. I cried a little, and begged a lot, to no avail. We had a safeword, had had one for years after a bad experience that reminded me uncomfortably of foster care and Justin, that I'd been unable to relate and ended up stopping by throwing John in a wall and locking myself in the bathroom.

We had a safeword, and I wasn't using it because as much as I screamed and cried and begged, I hadn't even realized how much I wanted this stern taskmaster/disciplinarian John until I had him buried balls-deep in my ass. As I started falling apart, the measuring look melted into affection and hungry lust. I screamed and came to pieces on his cock.

He slapped me twice, saying, "I didn't give you permission, little brat." I sobbed the apologies and flexed my muscles around him, making him choke off another reprimand and just let go - slamming in hard twice and filling me with his come.

He pulled out tenderly and took the glasses off. He was out of the bed before I could protest, and back with a damp cloth. Once I was clean, he was gone again, and I was almost asleep when he slipped under the covers and pulled me close to him.

"That was interesting," he said mildly. I laughed into his neck and kissed along the artery there, hearing his breathing get shallow. John had a very, very sensitive neck.

I licked his skin and he sighed. "I'm afraid I won't be much good for you until noon tomorrow," he said with regret.

"Not all touch is about sex," I said teasingly, since it was one of his favorite phrases to placate me with, from the early weeks of our relationship. He laughed soundlessly, just a shift of muscles in his chest.

"I take it you enjoyed yourself?"

"Mmmhm. And you?"

" _Thoroughly_ ," he hummed, the word resounding with feeling and connotations. I picked at it for a moment, and made a decision.

"Seems like the kind of thing you need a desk for," I said thoughtfully.

He glanced at the desks in the corners of the room - mine, for when I took notes on casefiles home, was a wreck of receipts, crinkled pages, and poorly organized folders. John's was immaculate, perfectly polished and organized even though it had inhabited the room years longer than I or my desk had. It was small, though, a roll-top antique he regarded with more sentimentality than most of the house. There were scuffs and a few scratches, but they were years old and had been repaired expertly.

It was no longer rickety, after some skilled work from Michael that had been a birthday present to John (a present that had gotten me in a huge amount of trouble until he sat at the desk again and sighed happily when it didn't wobble every time he moved a finger. Then he fucked me for about two weeks straight). But Michael had told me in no uncertain terms that the original craftsmanship was not sufficient for large amounts of force or weight.

"I was thinking about your _business_ office, actually. With the nice, _big_ desk," I said suggestively as I licked and kissed his neck. He grabbed my ass and I hissed as he made contact with swiftly bruising skin, but I didn't really mind it.

"You would actually do that?" he asked, green eyes serious even under the haze of arousal. In his office, during the day, with hundreds of people around...the office had huge panel glass windows looking out onto the rest of the floor, and similar ones staring out at Chicago.

"I can fog the glass," I wiggled my fingers, implying magic. It wasn't a spell that required prolonged concentration, making it ideal for privacy. I'd have to take it down before I left, of course.

He swallowed, and rolled me over again and started marking my neck. There was a bruise that never left, just below the line of my collar. John always left hickeys in that one spot, and he left them any time I said or did something he really, really liked. We'd gotten into the practice of physical responses to behavior we thought was worth encouraging. Words were too easy to fake.

He pinned my wrists as he marked me, as usual. It wasn't about me having control, and I knew and appreciated that. It was about him owning me the only way I had ever let him, and having a power over me no one else did - that I let him this close, that I let him physically dominate me cheerfully and without question.

It had been a long, complicated road to here, but it worked for us. I fucked him hard and kissed him shyly. He loved me gently and bit me roughly. We'd joked about it because it was the contradictions that made us work.

"I t-take it that's a yes," I gasped out when he pulled away. He kissed me. I knew it was a yes, so he didn't bother saying anything, just held me close as we fell asleep.


End file.
